


Where You Belong

by TwinKats



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Mad Swan ROCKS, wish there was more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Jefferson had high hopes that little miss Swan would do what he couldn’t. That she’d get the hat to work, not because he wanted her to but because she just could. Yet she didn’t, and so the women he knew was deep inside her continued to sleep, and he continued to be nothing more than a broken man. Until he couldn’t wait anymore and decided to take matters into his own hands. Again. Mad Swan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Present: Hat Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson wanted magic, wanted Grace, wanted the women he'd lost. More than that, Jefferson wanted Regina to leave him the fuck alone.

He watched her, watched everyone from his little house on the hill dressed in expensive clothes and surrounded by hats and tea sets and dolls. He watched her since that day she rolled into town, memorized her schedule, mesmerized by her. The minute she had crossed the border, he knew. He knew _her_ , in the same way he knew _Regina_ knew _Rumplestiltskin_. He could taste it on his tongue, feel it beneath his skin writhing like agony.

They called him the mad man on the hill. They pretended he didn’t exist. He’d slip into town once in a while starting ten years back to purchase food, drop off some clothes for this or that person, maybe a hat or two even when he loathed to make them because they were _never right_. Everyone avoided him, ignored him, and in some ways he preferred it.

Jefferson knew he was quite mad. Knew by how his lips would twitch into a too-wide grin, how his fingers itched to grab a hat, to give it a spin, and how he’d rage destruction upon his workroom when _it didn’t work_. Knew by how he’d trace the line around his neck, stare at it with a gun to his temple and hat perched on top and a twisted sort of broken smile on his lips as he whispered, “Off with his head.”

He never once pulled the trigger, although he’d stand like that for hours almost when things got so bad, the depression, the tantalizing, unreachable, image before him of _Grace_ , tore his mind into shreds that he had to piece together again.

Sometimes he thought he was still in Wonderland sewing hats for the blasted queen, or at the never ending tea party when he broke, finally, from it all it; couldn’t make another hat, couldn’t touch a needle, could only stare and laugh and make conversation with toys and dolls and cups of tea and people not there.

Sometimes he thought he was the lonely mad, man on the hill who made clothes and hats for the people of Storybrooke, creeping and spying on them because he couldn’t face the world, couldn’t dare talk to a person for more than five seconds because of what had been done to him, what he had done to himself. He’d wake to nights of pure terror, screaming at himself and pulling at his hair before he remembered, _he remembered_ and then he’d be sobbing, crying, and unable to move.

But not since _her_. He watched her drive into town in the yellow volkswagen bug, and he felt that spark. He’d felt that spark once before, ten years prior, eighteen years after this hell started, this infuriating punishment, neverending torment. This time the spark had been stronger, nearly put him onto his backside laughing, laughing, laughing until he got control of himself.

Jefferson became obsessed. He knew it, he _knew_ it. He watched her, tasted it on the air around her. Not even Rumplestiltskin or Regina had a taste like her, not anymore. The curse stripped everyone of everything and slammed them into new bodies, new lives, new memories that weren’t _right_. Jefferson knew, he could see it, they weren’t meant for this world. They were meant to be _home_ but no, Regina had to be a bitter old witch, _had_ to get her way. She couldn’t let bygones be bygones, let him go, let them _all_ go.

Emma tasted like _home_. Jefferson hadn’t been the only one caught up in it, he had noticed with clenched fists and snarls until he broke the telescope in twain. The Huntsman had felt it too, perhaps more keenly than anyone in this wretched town discounting Rumplestiltskin and Regina and himself. Only the three of them could tell before even that blasted Huntsman because they _knew_. They were awake. They were aware.

Rumplestiltskin thought himself _clever_ all these years, pretending, but Jefferson could see it every time he walked up to his door and demanded rent. Could taste it on his tongue, beneath his skin, and it brought a cold smile to his face every time. He didn’t say anything, a long, long deep seated line of sworn loyalty saw to that, but then what worth was it to let Regina knew that her perfect little world she dreamed of was nothing more than another plot of the Dark One? Pathetic girl.

Jefferson ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, fingers tap, tap, tapping away on the table as he watched with wide eyes, rocking, Emma go through her daily routine. It’d been nearly six months now, six months of _home_ being at his fingertips. Their little town was falling apart at the seams and it made him want to _laugh_ but it was too slow. Everything was moving _too slow!_

He pulled away, shaking. He felt the mania come at him, wrap around him, and Jefferson swallowed and took deep breaths because now, now wasn’t the time to be a broken, mad, man. He breathed out slowly until the shaking subsided, the need to move and _do something_ edged away leaving him calm. He twisted his head with a faint grimace, heard his neck pop almost satisfyingly but it’d never be enough.

He’d never be rid of this _ache._

With a puff of air Jefferson shook out his hands and headed down the stairs toward the kitchen. He needed food and a drink, maybe a good sip of tea. He’d look at a clock but he knew instinctively that it was tea time. He always knew tea time. His hands barely trembled as he tugged down the tea set, put the water on to boil and settled the leaves into the strainer to be steeped. He poured the hot water from the kettle into the pot and then carted the tray out into the foyer where he set it down onto the coffee table.

Jefferson took a seat on his couch, carefully set up one cup and one saucer and then glanced inside the pot to see if the tea had steeped enough. Satisfied he poured himself a glass, replaced the pot, and turned the cup around three times. He picked up the saucer and cup which barely shook in his hands and breathed in the scent. Jefferson’s eyes slid shut with a smile on his face, and took a sip.

Three sharp loud bangs disturbed his peace, jolted Jefferson out of drinking his tea so hard that his cup and saucer tumbled to the ground and tea spilled down his front, his hands, and his pants. Jefferson cursed. He got to his feet, shook his hands out and stared at the state of his clothes with a snarl to his face. He puffed at his cheeks, tried to regain a semblance of his own mind before he tore off for the door as another set of sharp loud bangs disturbed his peace.

 _Nobody_ visited him. His eyes were narrowed, his entire frame tense as he yanked the door open and stared outside, half a second away from grabbing the nearest pair of scissors and carving out a neck.

“Regina,” he said, tone cold. “I should have known.”

Regina gave him a smile as frigid as his tone. “Jefferson,” she greeted. “May I come in?”

Jefferson pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and tightened the grip on the door. “State your business and be gone,” he said through gritted teeth.

Regina sighed. “I see your hospitality hasn’t changed a bit.”

“I’m sorry, did you want to join me for tea time?” Jefferson cocked his head, gave a twisted sort of smirk. “A pity, you just missed it. Now what is it you want, your _majesty_.”

Regina rolled her eyes, looked him up and down. “I can _see_ that, Jefferson, but no. I have a _job_ for you.”

Jefferson became even more stiff if possible at her words. He hissed, “I will do _nothing_ for you.”

Regina arched an eyebrow, a curl to her lips as she said, “Not even for Grace?”

Jefferson swallowed, heavily. His eyes darted to the side, then back to Regina and he wet his lips. His eyes turned glassy and his hands began to shake. After a minute he breathed out, put on a wide, false smile, and opened her door.

“Come on in, Madam Mayor,” he said with false cheer and a clenched fist. Regina gave him an entirely condescending smile.

“Thank you, Mr. March,” Regina said and stepped over the threshold. Jefferson peered out into the daylight beyond his home as he slipped the door shut, his face dangerously blank as he did so.

He found Regina standing in his foyer, staring disdainfully at the cup on the ground and the stain on his carpet and he found he didn’t care. With a calm he didn’t feel he picked up the cup, the saucer, and placed them back onto his coffee table.

“Well?” he asked, scooping up the tray itself after he settled everything back in place. “Out with it.”

Regina arched an eyebrow. “No offer of tea?”

“Tea time is past,” Jefferson stated, carting the tray back into the kitchen. He set it down on the island. He carefully picked each piece apart, set them down beside the sink in neat columns and rows, and started the water. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a towel, and some soap, and started to clean.

“This pot is still full,” Regina said, eyes narrowed.

“Either you tell me what it is you want and what it is you are offering,” Jefferson said, “or get out.”

Regina sighed. “Always so troublesome, Jefferson. I’ve done plenty already. I had Grace move in next door, if you remember.”

Jefferson paused, only for a minute in his cleaning, his teeth grinding together in an attempt to control himself.

“Don’t,” he said, voice dangerously soft, “tempt the Hatter, your majesty. It might not end well.” He went back to washing.

“Very well,” Regina set her purse down on the island, tone all business now. “I want you to distract her.”

“Who.”

“Who else?” Regina asked and Jefferson licked his lips.

“And what do I get in return?” he demanded back.

“I’ll give you access to Grace,” Regina told him, a pretty smile slipping over her face as Jefferson literally stumbled in washing the cups. He dropped the one in his hand, whirled around to stare at her, fingers covered in soap and a rag still clutched in one hand.

Jefferson’s breathing was labored. It was almost _too_ good to be true. He stared at Regina, licked his lips, debated on trusting her word. She could be a sly one, always sly. She had him for years bound to this house, forced to rely on her good will to bring him food and supplies. When Henry came into town he’d been given leeway at the promise that he’d keep an eye on the border and report any suspicious activity to her.

He didn’t, of course, but she wasn’t aware of that.

Then she moved Grace close, but Jefferson suppressed that particular memory as often as he could. And here she was, dangling yet another carrot in front of his face and he helpless to resist. Jefferson closed his eyes.

“How much access,” he asked and Regina knew she had him. He’d do exactly as she wanted.

“She stays firmly where she is,” Regina told him, picking up her purse. “You do not disrupt her life with her parents,” Jefferson clenched his fist, “or give her any wild ideas, and if I hear she’s gone missing I’ll lock you up in the psych ward.” By this point Regina was halfway out of the kitchen, Jefferson trailing behind her like a puppy.

He trembled as he said, “You have a deal.”

“Oh, I know,” Regina laughed. “I’ll see myself out, Jefferson. You just keep her busy tonight and tomorrow.”

“As you say, your majesty,” Jefferson said, and she disappeared out the door. He could hear it practically slam, like a death knoll on his very soul. He stared, wide eyed at the walls, and as if in a daze moved back into the kitchen on unsteady legs. With a deep breath he went back to cleaning his tea set. Slowly his gaze hardened, he thought, and he planned.

* * *

There had been something about Alice, he remembered. Not the little girl Alice who became Cyrus’ Alice but  _his_ Alice. His beautiful, brilliant Alice that he would never see again. He called her Alice, but only in his head, because she reminded him of Alice, Alice even though she was someone so very different. Unique.

It was like how there had been something about Snow, Jefferson mused as smacked the thick branch to the back of Snow’s head. He grabbed her before she could hit the ground, and with a gunt hefted her up and dragged her back towards his house. Snow had been special even before Regina, before exile, before all the bullshit. He could remember it clearly, the taste in the air the day Snow entered the world. He’d only been a child, then, barely five and yet already sent to work on perfecting his ability to Jump using the Hat. Yet Snow’s something was different to his Alice. His Alice’s something different to Snow’s.

He dragged her up the stairs, pausing only to huff as his breathing became an issue. Snow hadn’t been far from his house, but she certainly weighed a fair amount more than he’d expect.

“Princess,” he grumbled, “you need to lose some weight.” He dragged leaned against the wall, not-quite panting as he stared down at her unconscious face. “Seriously.” With a grunt he pulled her back up until his arms and started up the next section of stairs until he was on the second floor. He pulled her down the hall into the west wing. Abruptly after three doors the hall opened into another which he took the turn and then pulled Snow into the first door.

Jefferson ignored the walls, the stacks wrapped straw wire and boxes. He dragged Snow over to a chair settled in the middle of the room and with a grunt shifted until he was facing her front instead of her back. Awkwardly, legs on either side of hers, he hobbled until he got her seated in the chair. By this point Snow started to come around, which Jefferson rolled his eyes with a sigh, grasping for the duct tape he had waiting. With single minded focus he tugged out a strip, ripped it with his teeth, and began to bind her down starting with her legs.

He had just started on her left arm when Snow finally came around.

“What hit me?” she asked dazedly.

“A tree branch,” Jefferson replied, ripping off another strip of tape as he finished off Snow’s left arm. He pulled out another and started to tape down her right when she jolted.

“Who are you?” she demanded, eyes snapping wide and posture going stiff. Jefferson sent her a smile, although it wasn’t very reassuring. He felt more like Hatter tonight than Jefferson, but he didn’t quite care right now. His thoughts were filled with _Grace_ and _his Alice_ and what tonight might bring.

“Just a poor old Jumper, my dear Princess,” he said, ripping off another strip. At this point Snow started the struggle, but Jefferson wrapped the last piece around her wrist and pressed a hand to her mouth just before she could scream. He raised his index finger of his other hand, still grasping the roll of tape, and said, “Shhh. Be a good girl now and let me get you ready for our guest.” Assured that she wouldn’t scream, he let go of her and sat the tape down on the desk, picking up a strip of cloth first.

Calmly he measured it out along his arm, and assured it was long enough he made his way back to Snow he watched him warily.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, pale.

“No,” Jefferson said and gave her another too-wide smile. “No, I’m saving you,” he told her pointedly. He knelt down and held the strip for her to see. “Now be good Snow and let me gag you.”

“Did you kill Kathryn?” Snow asked him, trembling.

Jefferson tilted his head, utterly confused. “Who?” he asked, but a moment later shook his head and reached around her and wrapped the gag tight before she could answer. “Hope that’s not too tight, Princess, but I can’t have you screaming just yet.” He double checked each of her restraints and then the gag before he stood.

He looked her over, frowning slightly to himself. A moment later he tilted his head, trying to get another angle, before he snorted out a laugh. “Definitely not the best first impression.”

Snow struggled and Jefferson waved, turning to slip out the door and pull it shut behind him.

“Behave, Snow,” he said to her, “We don’t want to be late, do we? There’s a very, very important date tonight.” He couldn’t help it, he laughed as he shut the door. He felt quite mad, or madder than usual. He caught the tail end of a scream, properly muffled, that went silent as he shut the door. He leaned against the shut door, tilted his head back against the grain of the wood, and closed his eyes with a sigh.

_Distract her_ Regina told him. He’d not once let himself get close, slip onto _her_ radar. Jefferson hadn’t been certain, nearly terrified, of having that girl with the taste of home come close to him could do to him. He’d feared that the Hatter would slip out and faster than he could even utter one of his mad phrases land himself in the hospital. He didn’t want to lose Grace like that, lose what little he had, so he stayed away. She seemed so ignorant, anyway, so asleep to the world around her.

“You can do this,” he muttered to himself, breathing in deeply. With a huff of air Jefferson pushed himself away from the door and headed down the hall and then down the stairs. He paused at the front door, looked back inside up to where he knew Snow struggled to get free, terrified. A part of himself felt horrible for it, but then there was _Grace_. The temptation was breathtaking, and with another steadying breath Jefferson shut and locked the front door.

He stared out into the forest around his home, trailed his fingers along the stone work as he stepped down the patio past his drive way and to the stonework fence. He traced the number _316_ and smiled, softly, to himself. Jefferson looked down the length of road, straightened his back, adjusted his scarf, and said, “Time to catch my wayward Alice,” to himself and started down the road.

* * *

He didn’t lie to her, he couldn’t lie to her. Jefferson knew how good Emma was at detecting lies. Her so-called special power, the ability that got her into and out of trouble at the drop of a hat. His lips twitched up in thought and she glanced over to him.

“Something funny?” she asked.

“Ah, no, just a stray thought,” he replied. “Turn here.” He pointed in the direction of his driveway, the stark _316_ standing out on the rockwall that surrounded his property. Regina liked to think she gave him this house, and maybe a part of her did, indeed, grant him all the wealth he’d had before. Especially since the only other man with the power to influence how the curse affected each and every one of its residents would have preferred to leave him as nothing more than an impoverished hermit in the woods.

“Oh wow, this is your house?” Emma gasped as she pulled the car to a stop. “You must have a huge family!”

Jefferson didn’t quite smile. He didn’t quite want to. He could remember a comment like this, words that had fallen from young lips at the sight of where he’d lived _before_.

“No,” Jefferson said and stared up at the mansion he lived in. “Just me.” He grimaced, got out of the car. His leg wasn’t quite as stiff now, the ankle much better as his own body, changed from the tortures of Wonderland, worked to correct the oversight.

He didn’t lie to Emma. He never could.

Jefferson lead her inside, hung his coat up on the rack just past the door but he didn’t dare take off his ascot. He didn’t dare expose to her the scar that ran the length of his neck, round and round. He’d exposed it once in Wonderland and remembered the shocked gasped, the horrified not-quite scream and now, now he couldn’t bring himself to show her.

“Tea?” he asked, leading Emma to the sitting room, just off of the foyer. He ran his fingers along the grand piano, debated playing a song for her for a brief moment until she gave his agreement.

“Ah, sure, that’d be nice,” Emma gave him a smile and Jefferson hobbled into the kitchen. He pulled out the tray, the cups, boiled some water and set the leaves into steep.

 _Distract her_ Regina had said. His hand trembled and he cursed under his breath. Jefferson had not expected the effect Emma would have on him. He had forgotten what it was like to have anyone aside from Regina or Rumplestiltskin enter into his house, be within his company for more than a passing moment. With a careful, drawn out breath he calmed himself and picked up the simple mixture he’d made earlier, once Regina had left.

The powder was white, as most powders where when they were made. It was a few roots and leaves and herbs he’d found in the forest, carefully crushed until it was fine enough to be soluble in tea. He dipped the bottle onto his finger, took just enough of the powder to coat the pad, and the carefully dabbled his pad against the inside of his cup until no powder was left. With a sigh Jefferson put the mixture back into his cupboard, washed his hands, and walked into the sitting room with all the settings on his tray.

Calmly Jefferson poured her a cup, smiled, and picked up the map he had painstakingly put together.

“I brought this,” he said, a smile to his face. “I’ve become somewhat of an amateur cartographer.” He pulled off the rubber band and laid the map down on top of his piano. “Mapping the area is a,” Jefferson pursed his lips, “hobby. Maybe it will help you track down your dog.” He stepped back, let her set the cup down after taking a sip, look over the map.

“Wow, that’s...pretty good,” Emma said, surprised. Jefferson smiled briefly again, although more bitter as to why. He’d had nothing more to do in these woods aside from map it and pick up anything useful. For years he’d had nothing more to do.

“What’s his name?” Jefferson asked, sitting down on the edge of the arm of the couch. He watched her like a hawk.

Emma smiled, glanced to him and said, “Spot.”

 _You’re a bad liar, Emma_ , Jefferson wanted to say, eyes grown dark and a too wide smile crossing his face. _Shall I teach how to lie **better?**_

“Cute,” he said instead, cheek twitching and casting his gaze elsewhere.

Emma browsed the man, Jefferson’s eyes on her almost the entire time. She sipped her tea, muttered to herself about the road and the forest boundary. Her words began to slow, slur  together, and Jefferson fought off a sigh of relief. A little too fast, but nothing he gave her would kill her. He got to his feet.

“Something wrong?” he asked, hands clasped in front of him.

“I’m just feeling, ah,” Emma began to sway backward, but Jefferson was there, arms around her waist. He pulled her back to his chest, hefted her up and had to bite back any sounds as she pressed against him.

“Let me just, ah, help you,” he said into her ear and dragged her backwards, let her slip sideways onto the couch with a smile. “Let’s just lie down here,” he said. She tried to sit up, brow furrowed. “I’ll get you some air.” He walked around, front of her.

She called out, “Your leg…” which brought Jefferson to pause. His leg? He glanced down. Ah, right, his leg. It’d gotten better, movable, finally.

Jefferson turned around, slow, said, “Guess you caught me.” He wanted to tug the ascot off his neck, but he gave a too wide smile instead and stalked back towards her. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, leaning down.

“Who are you?” Emma gasped, and then her eyes rolled up and she dropped her cup and tumbled into slumber.

Jefferson stared at her face, traced her jaw with one hand and placed a kiss to her lips. A smile flashed across his face for a moment as he stroked back her hair and then pulled away, reoriented himself back into Storybrooke.

 _Distract her_ Regina said. Jefferson walked out of the room, took the stairs two at a time and made his way into the room that held Snow. He looked her over, brushed past her with a smile.

“Soon, Princess,” he said, brushing his hand across her cheek which made Snow jerked with muffled expletives and he laughed. He picked up the duct tape and another piece of cloth and then slipped right back out of the room and down the stairs. Emma was still passed out on his couch, to Jefferson’s relief.

Calmly Jefferson moved until he knelt beside her. He placed a kiss between her shoulder blades, tugged her arms back, and tore off a strip of tape with his teeth. He wrapped it around her, leaving enough room to cut herself free and not much else. He placed another quick peck to her lips when he pulled out the cloth and tied it around her head, pressing it past her lips.

“Now to put the rest of the stage into play,” Jefferson said, smoothing back Emma’s hair one last time before turning on heel. “We’ll have quite the show tonight!” He grinned, almost laughed again, and leisurely sauntered out of the sitting room, back up the stairs, and into his workroom. Yes, he thought, tonight they would have _quite_ the show.

* * *

It only took Emma about thirty minutes to wake up. He could tell by when the electric fire of her presence grew stronger. Jefferson smiled, scissors in hand as he sharpened them on the stone. He’d planned, almost immediately after Regina told him what she wanted him to do, this little play. He’d figured, why not? He could feel the power, it writhed beneath his skin, wanting her, waiting for her to bring it forth.

Jefferson figure’d he’d have her make him a hat. One that would work, finally. One that could take him out of this cursed nightmare, take him and those he waited for with him. Oh how he longed for his Alice, for the day they could be a _family_ again. Jefferson listened for footsteps at the stairs, but they never came.

He frowned, set the scissors down. Had he underestimated her? Carefully he slipped out of the workroom, down the stairs, and into the sitting room. She wasn’t there.

“Dammit!” he snarled. He saw the teacup, broken, but none of his windows had been opened. They couldn’t be, he remembered trying once twenty-eight years ago. His front door hadn’t been disturbed either which meant she was still here, somewhere. Jefferson cursed again, grabbed the gun he’d placed in the entranceway dresser and took the stairs two at a time. He paused just in time at the corner between hallways, listened.

 _Oh that clever girl._ Jefferson smiled. She probably didn’t even realize what she’d done, so blinded was she, but he’d take it. He pressed himself into the other wall, aimed the gun in their direction, and clicked off the safety.

“I see you found Spot,” he said with a smile to his face. Emma turned around and froze, Snow beside her.

“I’ve already called for backup,” Emma started and Jefferson shook his head.

“No,” he said, smiling slipping until all it was, was a faint curve to his lips. “You haven’t. No one knows you're here because you don’t want anyone to know you’re here, just like you didn’t mention her.” He motioned with the gun towards the room. “Now tie her back up.”

They walked back into the room at gunpoint. Jefferson tossed her the roll of duct tape and raised his brows.

“Well?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. Emma breathed out slowly and unwrapped the tape, carefully tying Snow’s wrists back into the chair

“Emma,” Snow whispered and ah, Jefferson had to tilt his head back to get a better look. Yes, those were tears, even. The Hatter grinned, too wide and full of teeth.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Emma whispered back.

 _Touching, isn’t it?_ Jefferson thought as the gag was slipped back into place. Emma got to her feet, turned around. He could see the defiant look in her eye, the touch of her stance and _oh. Alice, **there** you are._

“The telescope,” Emma said. She sounded so strong, so sure of herself. “You’ve been watching me. Why?”

 _Because you’ve forgotten everything you fool of a girl! Because there is magic in your veins and it **sings** and_ \--Jefferson stepped into the room, gripped Emma by the arm tight.

“Because I need you to do something,” he said, low and almost guttural, and pulled her from the room. He tugged the door shut with flourish, inciting a bit more of the Hatter in his movements now. He could feel the mania rising within and he didn’t bother to shut it away this time. No, no matter how unpredictable the Hatter could be, right now he just wanted to let him _free._ With a laugh he pushed Emma into his workroom and pulled the door shut behind him.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing, but I swear if you hurt my friend I’ll make you regret it,” Emma snarled.

Jefferson stepped into her space, forced her back. “Hurt her?” he said, a crazed little grin to his lips. “I’m _helping_ her.”

“How?” Emma asked.

“Oh don’t play stupid,” Jefferson’s smile turned into a scowl and he tilted his head to the side. “We both know what happens when people try to leave Storybrooke.”

_She knew, she **had** to, she must!_

“What are you talking about?”

“The _curse_ ,” Jefferson said, and he almost spat the word. A curse, a nightmare, _his worst dream come to life._

Emma stopped, and Jefferson stopped six inches from her. He could touch her if he moved his arm. Reach up and cup her cheek, maybe remind her of everything that was _wrong_ with this picture. _Wrong_ with this world! He didn’t.

“What curse?”

 _Does she not know?_ Jefferson wondered. Hatter snarled _how could she forget you, forget me, forget us, **forget?**_ He wanted to breath, _oh, Alice_ , but he stopped himself. This wasn’t Alice, not Alice, Alice, and maybe not even _his_ Alice.

“The one keeping us trapped,” he said. “All. Except. You.” Emma swallowed.

“Have you been reading Henry’s book?”

 _Henry? Henry who?_ His brow furrowed, he looked off to the side.

“Henry? The queen’s father?” he questioned.

“Henry the mayor’s adopted _kid_ ,” Emma pointed out and Jefferson smiled. _Oh._ He’d forgotten Regina called the boy Henry, wiped away his own identity and for a moment Storybrooke snapped into place, washed away the Hatter, Wonderland, and the Enchanted Forest. Washed away _Alice_ and _Grace_ until the Hatter reasserted himself and pulled Jefferson along for the ride.

“ _Henry_ ,” he said, drawing the name out. “ _Your_ Henry.” Like _his_ Alice, his beautiful blond Alice who didn’t remember, didn’t know. It was like falling down a rabbit hole all over again, lost and broken and _alone._ “Henry and his book of stories.” He didn’t know of any book, but if that is what Emma believed then he would humor her.

She’d humor him soon enough.

“The ones you choose to ignore,” he almost brought a hand up to drag through her hair. “Maybe if you knew what I know you wouldn’t,” Jefferson said instead.

“Why have you been spying on me?” Emma demanded instead. Jefferson pursed his lips, slipped around her. He raised the gun, dropped it.

He’d had this whole speech planned out, words designed to rouse something in her, maybe wake her up. Instead he got around to the other side of the room and raised his head to the ceiling and then looked back to her.

“You’re special,” he said, his lips curling into both a snarl and a smile. _Special_ the Hatter scoffed. _**Special** is what made her break us._ “You brought something to Storybrooke that it’s been missing for twenty-eight _years_. The clock started to tick, things began to change, you brought _magic._ ”

Emma shook her head. She looked unsurprised, but rather disappointed. He wanted to shriek, but he kept himself in check. “You’re insane,” Emma breathed.

“Because I speak the truth?” Jefferson parroted back to her, memory slipping ever so slightly. He drew it back, walked back around his work table until he was six inches from her again.

“Because you’re talking about magic,” Emma implored him.

“I’m talking about what I’ve seen,” Jefferson hissed. “You wander around town, walk among us, listen to our stories, work against Regina at every turn and yet still you don’t believe. Still you don’t _open your eyes._ Perhaps you’re the one that’s mad.”

“Really?” Emma scoffed.

He leaned in until they were inches from each other, until it was just his eyes and hers and lips near pressed. She stood stock still.

“Open your eyes,” he implored her. “ _Look around,_ ” he whispered. “ ** _Wake up._** Isn’t it about time you just _woke up already?_ ” He did not beg, he did not have tears in his eyes. The Hatter did not scream at him, rattle its cage, beg her to _just wake up already please my beauty my lovely my one!_

Emma breathed in slow. Her heart hammered in her chest. She asked, “What do you want?”

Jefferson closed his eyes. Pain flashed across his face.

_It didn’t work, it didn’t work, why won’t anything **work?**_

“I want you to get it to work,” he snarled, placing a hand on her shoulder and shoving her into the seat. He placed the scissors in her hand, pressed his cheek to her head. He stared at the hat.

“Get what to work?” Emma asked.

“You’re gonna get it to work,” Jefferson said, he placed a kiss to her temple and stepped back. Waiting.

_She’ll get it to work._

She didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a horrendous Mad Swan shipper and so saddened that there haven’t been more stories about these two. Jefferson has been my favorite on screen since I first watched Hat Trick way back when I first got into this show. Season One by that time was over and done with and on Netflix and they were starting into Season Two. I’ve been shipping Mad Swan since.
> 
> I never ventured into fanfic until recently, compelled to re-watch and catch up on Once after going into a severe Sebastian Stan obsession. I hadn’t realized at the time that Sebastian Stan was that pretty mouth and leather pants that I’d adored from Hat Trick until I looked up his filmography and it just clicked.
> 
> My obsession has finally begun to wane now that I’ve watched pretty much everything he’s in aside from Gossip Girls, except I started to have a rather delicious idea for Once and Mad Swan. So aside from this and my single Winter Soldier WIP there’s not gonna be much else fanfic wise with Sebastian Stan coming from me ;p
> 
> The story is going to be primarily AU. Events of the episodes before Hat Trick and the following episodes up until An Apple Red As Blood are pretty much the same canonically. There’s no difference to them that happens. The only difference in Storybrooke is that Regina and Rumple both like to go up and bother Jefferson at random points. Regina usually when she wants something, Rumple just because he can.
> 
> I’m also playing this that Rumple already remembered anything the moment the curse was implemented, his own little “back up” plan so to speak. So like Regina and Jefferson he was aware of the past and of the curse, and a part of him actually genuinely enjoys being human again. Enjoys the power this gives him, so different from magic yet still strangely satisfying.
> 
> No, most of what is AU actually takes place pre-Storybrooke, pre-Emma arrives in Storybrooke, pre-Curse. I’m running mostly on the notion that Wonderland is pretty much “Everything is possible, nothing impossible” to explain a few things, especially in regards to Jefferson’s past. Wonderland has its own rules (obviously it has rules) that will crop up now and again but most of those rules just come and go with how strange and impractical Wonderland can be.
> 
> Also there are a few little twists as to why Jefferson worked for Rumple and how he became an impoverished mushroom seller. We’re still keeping the “my work cost my Grace’s mom” rule, but beyond that you’ll have to wait and see.
> 
> I’m thinking of writing this story as one chapter Storybrooke, one chapter past, alternating back and forth. Chapters past this one (the simple retelling of Hat Trick with minor changes through Jefferson’s POV) will focus on both Emma AND Jefferson and dip into their heads (probably alternatively, but not always) We’ll see how that works.
> 
> I’ll be attempting to keep to around 15 pages a chapter. We’ll see.


	2. Past: A Fated Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the Curse, Jefferson meets a young girl. She calls herself Alice.
> 
> Before Neal, Emma runs away. She finds herself in Wonderland.

Jefferson knew that laugh. He knew that laugh rather well. He didn’t glance up from the small glass figurine he held between his fingers, lounging back against the pillowed seat, he didn’t need to. He pursed his lips as the laughter continued, rolled his eyes.

“ _What_ do you want, O Dark One,” Jefferson drawled. He tossed the glass figurine up and caught it swiftly in his fist, slipping from his lounging position until he was upright staring straight at Rumplestiltskin who leaned against one of the tables, filled with books.

“Admiring your treasures, are you, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin asked, tilting his head.

“I always am,” Jefferson replied, setting the figurine down on a shelf full of them. He traced his fingers along its edge before turning around with a flourish and a bow. “What can I do for the Dark One today?”

Rumplestiltskin tittered another laugh, waved his hand in a mock-bow himself and slipped around the desk. This was a song and dance they played before, time and time again.

“Oh, nothing much,” Rumplestiltskin said, tracing his fingers around the books. “I just have a little errand for you.”

Jefferson slipped around the opposite desk, flipping through books, feigning a lack of interest as he said, “Oh? And what do you want me to retrieve this time?”

“Retrieve?” Rumplestiltskin laughed. “No, no, no! I do not want you to retrieve anything, dearie. Delivery, this time.”

Jefferson paused, his hands stilled and his head shot up to look at Rumplestiltskin who smiled too-wide, dangerous and full of teeth.

“No,” Jefferson said sharply. “Not that. Send me there to retrieve something, fine. Send me there for anything except _that_.”

Rumplestiltskin tilted his head, said, “Come now, are you _refusing_ me? A simple, no-risk task?”

Jefferson snapped the book in front of him shut, leaned forward against the table, pressing both palms downward. “I am not your messenger boy for love notes to that damned Queen of Hearts!”

Within a second Rumplestiltskin was _there_ , wrapped a hand around Jefferson’s shoulder, spun him until his back was pressed against the table, fingers wrapped around his neck. Jefferson froze, because he can’t cast a spell, never learned, never found an interest in magic as dull as that, and he knew logically that Rumplestiltskin could kill him right there if he so wished.

“They’re not love notes, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin all but hissed, his face twisted up into a snarl. Jefferson had to swallow, tilt his head back with the force of Rumplestiltskin’s hand wrapped tight. “And you will do exactly as I say. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Jefferson said, and he let out a heavy breath as the hand around his neck moved away. He rubbed and massaged blood and muscle, trying to get rid of the feeling of nails black as night and sharp as daggers digging into his skin, of the rough, scale-like texture of Rumplestiltskin’s skin.

“Good,” Rumplestiltskin said. He looked Jefferson up and down, a wry little smile across his face. “You’ll be paid handsomely, of course,” he added on the sly.

“I always am,” Jefferson said, and if his smile was a bit more frosty, a bit more cold, Rumplestiltskin said nothing, he just looked him over and tutted softly to himself.

“You might want to dress a bit...nicer...dearie,” he said. “You look rather distasteful.” Jefferson glanced down at his breeches and tunic and soft-leather jacket. He had an ascot wrapped at his neck, tucked into his red vest.

“These are my best clothes,” he said, brow furrowed.

Rumplestiltskin tittered, said, “No, no, no! They just won’t do. Not for this trip.” He snapped his fingers and suddenly a pile of clothes settled itself onto the table next to Jefferson. Confused, and curious, Jefferson tugged up the top and noted the bright red coloration with a frown. He felt the fabric, his eyes widening only minutely at the richness of it, and then glanced to Rumplestiltskin. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth as he set the garment down.

“Tell me you are not trying to marry me off,” Jefferson said, face mutinous.

“Nothing so final,” Rumplestiltskin said with a laugh. Jefferson shot him an infuriated glare and made, with a sigh, scooped up the clothing and headed down the hall. Rumplestiltskin followed with a smile across his face. Jefferson headed into what looked to be a lavish bedroom and slipped behind a changing screen.

“So...decadent,” Rumplestiltskin said, trailing his fingers along the bed sheets.

“You ruin anything I expect you to replace it,” Jefferson said as he shucked his coat, vest, ascot and tunic. He grasped the fancier, ruffled and lace white tunic Rumplestiltskin included in the ensemble and slipped it on, tying it shut.

“Oh I won’t ruin anything of yours, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin murmured. “No worries there.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jefferson said, tugging on the black vest and buttoning it up. He slipped out of his leather breeches next, pulling on the other pair that were somehow _shinier_ than his. Then he slipped out from behind the changing screen, sat himself on the edge of the bed and tugged on his boots.

“Oh don’t you look dashing,” Rumplestiltskin said, trailing one hand down Jefferson’s shoulders. Jefferson shot him an annoyed glare out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t like this,” he said. “Blood red really isn’t my style.” He stood up and tied the red ascot into place with the help of a mirror, and then he slipped on the bright red coat. He adjusted the buttons of the middle, made sure it fit around properly before he turned, scooping up his hat and setting it on top. With a flourish Jefferson posed for Rumplestiltskin, eyebrows raised.

Rumplestiltskin tapped a finger against his lip, looking over Jefferson appraisingly for a moment. “There is just one thing,” he said, and flicked his fingers with a laugh. The hat upon his head slowly shifted from black to red. Jefferson could feel the tingle of the magic coat the fabric with, and with wide eyes he turned around to look at the mirror.

“No!” he snapped, pulling the now red hat from his head. He whirled back around to Rumplestiltskin. “Change it back.”

“It doesn’t look right unless its red, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin tsked.

“It’s _my hat_ ,” Jefferson snarled. “I like it black.”

“It’s only temporary,” Rumplestiltskin sighed. “As soon as you return it’ll go back to being how it was. I promise. Happy?” Jefferson searched his face, and with a sigh perched the hat back onto his head.

“You’d better be telling the truth,” he said sharply. “Now where is this message so I can get this done with.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “Viola!” He pulled a simple leather satchel from behind his back and held it out for Jefferson to take. When Jefferson reached out, he tugged it back. “Ah, ah. Promise me you won’t peak.”

Jefferson sighed, rolled his eyes, and said, “I won’t peak.” Rumplestiltskin handed over the sack without protest after that. Jefferson calmly secured it to his hip and then motioned for Rumplestiltskin to head out the door. “After you.”

He followed Rumplestiltskin out of his bedroom, down the hall into the main foyer without a word. Rumplestiltskin twirled around, gave him a smile, a bow, a wave, and then disappeared. Jefferson sighed, tugged his hat off his head. He looked disgustedly at the red thing, and then at the satchel on his hip.

“You had better not be attempting to marry me off,” Jefferson said under his breath, and with a flick of his wrist, opened the portal. He jumped.

* * *

Emma snapped her eyes open, breathed out slowly. She listened, face pinched in concentration. All she could hear was the creaks and groans of an old house. Carefully she slipped out of her bed, fully dressed. Blank faced, serious, Emma grabbed her red threadbare purse. She crouched, because that was what they did in the movies, kept her ears open and listened just in case someone was awake. Carefully she slipped the door open, winced as it made a sound, but then nobody said a word, nobody woke up.

Emma slipped down the hall, down the stairs to where she knew they kept their money. She grabbed all of it, stuffed it in her purse. She opened the fridge, grabbed as much as she could that she knew wouldn’t perish quickly. She opened up the drawers, stuffed two knives into her sack, and then as carefully as she dared Emma headed towards the garage. She had to pause, holding her breath, when she heard a noise upstairs but after a second of nothing she continued onward. With a sigh Emma darted, eased the door open, and began to raid the toolbox.

She pulled out a screwdriver, a hammer, some nails. Emma shuffled through the garage, looking for anything she could pawn, and then stuffed it into her purse. Once she was assured she had everything, she opened the door back garage door and slipped out into the backyard. The house was  modest, two story. Her foster parents not poor but neither rich. They weren’t kind either, and she’d had enough. With a breath Emma opened the back gate, slipped out into the front yard.

Emma paused in the front yard. She couldn’t help it. For years she planned this, planned running away. She’d done it before, escaped her foster homes until they dragged her back, but this time she planned for it to be permanent. Emma took a deep breath, and then with a determined face she ran. She ran the length of the neighborhood. She ran until she found the road out and then she walked. Emma smiled.

She was free. Emma laughed. _She was free!_

Her foot caught on a branch, her eyes snapped open wide, and with a yelp Emma went tumbling down the embankment on the side of the road into the forest. She tumbled for what felt like hours, what felt like over a cliff even. Emma’s breath caught in her throat, she wanted to scream as she fell, down, down, down….

Until she stopped falling and floated, and then stopped floating all together. Her back hit the ground with nothing more than a gentle thump and not even a second after that she was tumbling down another hill with no control of herself. She couldn’t stop, her hands scrambling out for reach or purchase gripping grass too green and slipping. She tried to dig her heels into the dirt but they slipped away. Her fingers bounced back like it was rubber. It was only when she crashed into a tree, dizzy, most probably concussed, that she finally stopped moving.

Emma blinked once, then twice, before her world was swallowed by black.

* * *

A  _ball_ . He should have know. Jefferson pursed his lips as his boots crunched on the dirt of the path. The only reason Rumplestiltskin would ever complain about his clothes--except on the off chance in attempting to actually marry him off--would be because of a damned  _ball_ . It was bad enough that Jefferson had to come to Wonderland, pretend to be a native--because any non-natives weren’t welcome--but to sneak into the Queen of Hearts domain during a  _ball_ ?

Jefferson was so going to demand twice his normal price for this. Rumplestiltskin was _lucky_ he was so talented at not only being a thief, but a sneak and a con artist as well! The package for that damnable Queen had been placed, with her completely unaware of how it had arrived, as per usual, and he was quite happy to be done and rid of this place, thank you.

He hadn’t watched his footing, assured that the path would be clear as it’d been on his way down. Jefferson was surprised, unpleasantly so, when his foot stepped on something round and he found himself on his back, in the dirt. He groaned, pushed himself up and scooped his hat onto his head. He stared at the offending object. He got to his feet, and then picked up the odd object.

“Curious,” Jefferson said, and slipped it into his satchel. He moved to take another step, this time his eyes darted around his surroundings and paused. He bent down, placed his hands on his knees, and stared at what looked to be another strange cylindrical object. “Curiouser,” he said, casting his gaze down a path of debris. “And curiouser.”

He scooped up the next item and began a trek down the hill, calmly grabbing each strange object, staring at each for a moment before stuffing them into his pack. He followed the trail all the way down the hill, towards the edge of the forest, and then paused.

“Now what,” Jefferson murmured, tilting his head as he gazed up and down the form, “is this?” He stepped close, knelt down until he could brush the strands of blond away from a pale face. The clothing was odd, not-right for Wonderland, or the Enchanted Forest, not right for any world he’s visited.

The strange objects obviously came from whoever this girl was. Jefferson noted that they trailed from some ratty old satchel she had. His gaze traced the curve of her leg, up to what looked like the shortest skirt he’d ever seen. He’d been half tempted to raise it, check that this was some human girl from a distant land. His hand had already half inched its way there before he drew it back.

“Not the best way to introduce oneself,” he reminded himself, quelling the insistent need that rose with how little clothing she wore. After a moment he sighed, scooped up the remains of what she had littered about and then, with a grunt, hefted her up into his arms. “I’m afraid I can’t take you back with me,” he said, “yet leaving you alone is a poor choice indeed. Wonderland doesn’t take well to guests. Ah, damn my chivalrous heart.”

Jefferson snorted. Chivalrous indeed. He knew he was no chivalrous man, that he wasn’t doing this out of _kindness_ but more an interest into where she came from. Such strange baubles she carried, such strange manner of dress. He figured no sooner than he left her and she’d be dead or worse, especially in a place such as Wonderland and then where would he be? Without a new world to plunder and one less pretty face he could find solace in. No, he carted her back up the hill in the direction where all her things came tumbling from. He found a nice secluded area next to where the _magic_ sang in the dirt and set her down.

“I guess you fell down one of the Rabbit’s holes,” Jefferson said. “Filthy beast, always leaving a tunnel in some place or another.” Jefferson’s lip curled at the thought. He placed his satchel beneath her head as a mock pillow, tugged off his coat to wrap around her shoulders. She’d probably be cold in what little she wore and he, well, Wonderland was no more cold than a drafty old castle. Jefferson gathered wood, started a fire to sit by. He dug his fingers in the dirt, testing the feel of the magic there. “Definitely Rabbit’s,” he said. “He should clean up his messes more often, lest poor girls like this one tumble into Wonderland.”

Jefferson settled himself back against a tree, pulled out one of the items she’d had still inside her own ratty bag. It was wrapped in something that was smooth to the touch. He sniffed it, curious, and then bit at the edge, tearing off a portion which he promptly spat out when it became obvious it wasn’t edible. The tearing created a hole, which in a fit of further examination he tugged wider. The hole revealed some sort of crisp nutty bread like substance that Jefferson sniffed first before taking a tentative bite of. It crunched.

“You must be from an interesting land that wraps its food in shimmering cloth,” Jefferson said offhand, glancing at the slumbering girl. “One filled with more vermin than the Enchanted Forest, I’d gather.” Jefferson sighed, glanced over her, but she appeared past out and entirely unlikely to awaken any time soon. “Well then, guess it’d be best if I took a bit of a rest myself. Not like there’s much else to do.”

He could peruse her bag again, but then what if it was all some food in strange containers? And what if she awoke, angry, that he’d messed with his stuff. Jefferson huffed, leaned back against the tree and tilted his hat down over his eyes.

“Women,” he muttered to himself. “Such finicky creatures. Beautiful, and fun, but so very finicky.” With that thought he let himself drift off.

* * *

Emma came around with a blinding headache and the sound of someone snoring softly. She pushed herself up, confused as to whose leather bag was under her head. It looked somewhat expensive, if very minimalist in its design. Emma peaked inside and found some of the canned food she nicked from her foster parents and what looked like some sort of packages of leaves and letters. She frowned, set it down and glanced around her.

She’d been resting at the base of a tree. In the center of what looked like freshly packed earth sat a dwindling fire. She could see the sun rising off in the distance, grass greener than she could ever imagine and where those giant mushrooms? Emma had to rub her eyes, confused at the sight. To her left, snoring away, was a man. He looked to be dressed in some sort of old fashion attire, a top hat tilted over his eyes.

He must have found her, Emma figured, and then what? Stopped to make camp in the middle of a forest, dressed like that? Anyone who wore such finery would more than likely be adverse to getting dirt and grass stains on their clothes. Emma frowned. Then again anyone with such finery should have something worthwhile to pawn off on someone else. She glanced down at the leather bag, and then back to him.

Emma pushed herself to her feet, and when suddenly her shoulders felt bare she glanced down to see the most vibrantly designed coat had been wrapped around her shoulders. She glanced back over to the slumbering man. This, she thought, this could fetch a decent price surely! It looked vintage, yet well kept. She slipped her hands into the sleeves, picked up the leather bag, and then her own ratty bag and shot the man another glance.

“Hate to run,” she whispered. He’d been kind enough to build a fire and then cover her up, and at least rescue her things. “Thanks for the hospitality?” the words were barely said before she grimaced. What was she saying? He could be an axe murderer or something. With a sigh Emma looked down at the grassy knoll with giant mushrooms and then back into the forest. She figured she’d stick to the tree line until she could find a road or some sort of civilization. She couldn’t be too far from a freeway.

With one last glance at the snoring man Emma started off, heading in what she figured was north. It was uphill at least, if anything, which probably was a good sign? Emma couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t sure how long she walked, probably no more than a half an hour, before she got tired and hungry and so sat down on her hands and knees to go through the leather sack and her purse again. She pulled out a power bar and nibbled away, eyeing the mushrooms that littered the ground. She was certain she recognized a few edible breeds, and reached out to pluck one.

“Are you really going to try and eat the food here?”

Emma whirled around, surprised to see the man from that encampment leaning against a tree with his blood red hat tilted down over his eyes, yet perfectly poised on his head.

“Wh-What?” Emma asked.

He walked over to her, tilted his hat back, and plucked the mushroom from her grip. “You don’t want to do that.” He tossed it over his shoulder, gave her a wide grin. “I don’t know what land you hail from, but here things are very different.”

Emma flushed slightly. In part at being caught and in part from the wide smile he gave her.

“Now can I have my satchel back?” he asked, holding out a hand.

“Sorry,” Emma said, handing it over. She went to shrug off the coat before he raised a hand and stepped into her space, shifting to button it shut.

“You can keep this on,” he told her, pressed close into her space which made Emma a little uncomfortable. “You seem a bit...underdressed.” Emma flushed, and then flushed a bit deeper when he smiled down at her and stepped back.

He looked her over, and laughed just a bit in surprise. “It looks good on you,” he said, and then bowed with a flourish, pulling his hat off of his head. “Jefferson’s the name,” he said lightly, straightening up with a wide, wide grin across his face. “I’m a man of travels, although I have to say I’ve not yet been to a land with clothing quite like yours.” He tilted his head sideways, only the faintest of leers on his face, which made Emma’s blush stronger.

“I--” she started to stutter out but the next second Jefferson tugged her close to him, hand over her mouth with a hissed, “Quiet,” his eyes wide.

There were sounds of booted feet, of men marching on the ground. Jefferson swallowed, pulled Emma further back into the trees as. He could see the Queen of Hearts’ famed ‘Playing Cards’ force marching down the road, Knave of Hearts at their head, spears at the ready.

“Her Majesty want’s the intruder found! Leave no stone unturned!” shouted the Knave, and a few of the men broke off. Jefferson counted a total of ten before he tugged Emma further back into the trees.

“We’re going to have to run,” he told her softly, “because trust me, you do not want them to find you.” He looked down at her when he felt her nod against his hand, and then with a wide smile dropped his hand from her mouth and offered his palm for her to take. When she did, he tugged her into the trees with a hissed, “Quickly, now!”

* * *

They ran for hours, or to Emma and Jefferson what seemed like hours. Jefferson only let them come to a stop, almost half-dragging her at some points, when he felt assured that he couldn’t hear any signs of the Guards. He dropped Emma’s hand, leaned against a tree, held the stitch in his side and panted. Emma leaned against another tree, gasping for breath with sweat trailing down her face.

“Who were those people?” she asked.

Jefferson laughed, lightly, and dropped his hat to the ground with a breath. “The Queen of Heart’s guard dogs,” he said, placing his hands on his knees. “Nasty, and not too fun to get in a tussle with.”

Emma blinked. “Queen of Hearts?” she couldn’t be sure she heard right. Jefferson gave her a questioning look, and then wide eyed realization.

“Ah,” his face slipped back into a neutral sort of suave facade. “You aren’t aware then?”

Emma collapsed down into the dirt, and frowned at the leaves in her hair. “Aware of what?”

Jefferson scooped up his hat, found a rock covered in leaves and brushed them off before sitting down. He gave her a grin as he said, “The Queen of Hearts is the ruler here. Although rumors say she’s nothing more than an ousted practitioner of dark magic banished to this land by her daughter.” Jefferson could remember when Rumplestiltskin crowed at that, pleased by the results. He’d said something about it being a step in the direction he wanted to Regina take, not that Jefferson understood a word of it.

Emma stared at him, shook her head. “I must have hit my head pretty hard,” she said with a frown. “I could have sworn you said Queen of Hearts. Twice.”

Jefferson blinked, a bit surprised. “You’ve heard of her then?”

Emma wanted to laugh. “Yeah, she’s a character in a book. Alice in Wonderland.”

Jefferson snorted, a disbelieving grin on his face. How much in luck was he to come across a girl whose world was pressed so closely to Wonderland? He said, “A book? Fascinating.” He shook his head. “Well I know of no Alice, but this is Wonderland.” He pursed his lips at the thought, and pursed them further when Emma said he had to be crazy.

“It’s just a fairy tale!” she said. “A story. Wonderland isn’t real.”

Jefferson stood to his feet, stalked over to her, for the first time appearing rather angry. He bent down until they were eye height, and she froze, eyes wide in shock, almost terror. “Isn’t real? Just a fairy tale? Look around you. This is merely one of many lands to exist. How arrogant are you to assume yours is the only one?”

Emma stared at him, then said, “What? Are you supposed to be the Mad Hatter then?” she almost sneered.

Jefferson’s face pinched, affronted, and he pulled back. “I _hate_ Wonderland,” he said sharply. “And I could have been back home, in my mansion, if I didn’t bother to stop and be chivalrous for once. Now the mirror will be guarded and I won’t be able to leave for at least a _week_.” Emma went silent. “As I said before, my name is Jefferson. I’m a traveler, a man who retrieves objects of interest for paying parties, from the worlds I visit.” He held his hand out for Emma to take, putting his hat back on his head.

Emma took his hand, breathed out slowly, and said a soft, “Sorry.” Jefferson pursed his lips and looked away, but he nodded his head in acceptance. He turned back around with a smile on his face, and then sighed and gave a bow.

“Until such a time as I am able to leave this place, may I offer you my services as guide?” Jefferson asked.

“Ah, sure,” Emma said, hesitant. Jefferson smiled wider and stood back up. She held her hand out to shake, and he kissed the back of her knuckles with a roguish grin.

“Wonderful,” he practically purred. “Company shall make this...unexpected trip all the more enjoyable. Miss….?”

Emma blinked, licked her lips, and then said, “Alice.”

Jefferson chuckled. “Your book?” he asked.

Emma smiled wryly, “It...seems appropriate.”

“Well then,” Jefferson said. “Rule one, don’t eat the food. Actually don’t eat anything you can pick. Or hunt. Just don’t eat anything.”

Emma raised an eyebrow and Jefferson rolled his eyes.

“It’s either sentient,” he said, carefully leading Emma further into the woods, only half-trying to get his bearings on their location, “or it’ll do something to you. You can never be sure which.”

Emma stared, then laughed and said, “Right. Wonderland.” Jefferson gave her a smile, this one a little more genuine. It appeared to light up his face, made him look even younger, perhaps.

“Yes,” Jefferson said. “ _Wonderland._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than my original plan, but then I ran out of steam of what Emma and Jefferson would be doing in Wonderland aside from surviving. Any thoughts? Could be useful. ACTUALLY YEAH WOULD BE USEFUL GO AHEAD AND PROMPT SHIT YOU WANT JEFFERSON AND YOUNG EMMA TO GET UP TO BECAUSE OTHERWISE I MIGHT NOT GET IDEAS VERY WELL, THANKS. As a note on the timeline or vague hints of timeline for this scenario it’s pre-Enchanted Forest events from “The Doctor” but post Regina tossing her mom into Wonderland.
> 
> I’m playing it that Snow is around fifteen years old or so, give or take, because Regina was at least a half-decent mom for a few years before she went evil bitch crazy. Plus I already have it in mind that Jefferson isn’t that much older than Snow already, because otherwise he ages really fucking gracefully. Even living in his hovel he didn’t look older than at LEAST late twenties. To me, that is.
> 
> Bah. What am I saying? Sebastian Stan doesn’t look to be in his thirties and he is so yeah. Maybe it’s a Romanian thing? Meh.


	3. Present: 10 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson pops out of a portal in the middle of the forest ten days later.

The smoke trailed out, purple the sign of travel, of movement, of portals. The next second Jefferson found himself falling into dirt and leaves, soft enough to cushion his fall, hard enough to kick the air out of his lungs. His head throbbed something fierce, and Hatter was screaming at him rattling cages in his mind, enough that Jefferson curled into the earth, breathed in its musty scent, and groaned softly. He blinked slowly, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

“It...worked,” he said, rocking forward ever so slightly. He reached up one hand to trace the line of his neck, slipping it up to rub at his temple where Emma had brained him with his own telescope. He stared at the tree, almost dumbfounded. “It worked?”

Carefully Jefferson maneuvered onto his knees, one hand smacking out to touch the rough bark of the tree which he used to help steady himself up and onto his feet. He looked around, dazed, not quite aware of himself actually. He could recognize the trees, the forest, the world around him. He was in the part of the woods that happened to be closest to Regina’s little hamlet. He pushed himself away from the tree, blinking slowly as his mind processed that it was daylight out, a brighter sense of daylight that he could remember given how light filtered through the trees.

Jefferson breathed out slowly, a soft, almost weak, “It worked,” in shock. He hadn’t felt the touch of magic in the hat. He hadn’t felt anything. Emma hadn’t given the hat magic, he knew that much the minute he spun it between his fingers and yet, somehow, after Snow had kicked him out of his own window the hat had dragged him away to safety. _Well_ , Jefferson snorted to himself, _relative safety at least._ The only conclusion he had was that Emma had imbibed the hat with magic _as he fell._

The grin that curled at his lips could have been considered obscene as he murmured, “ _That’s_ my girl,” to himself and started to stumble into town. Perhaps she’d believe him now? Believe that he traveled worlds, that he _was_ from the Enchanted Forest? Jefferson paused, pressed himself against another tree and frowned. Perhaps not actually, since Emma was so firm in her mindset of rather being _blind_ than opening her heart again to belief. Jefferson breathed out slowly, hands trembling. That meant that, even if he walked up to her now, she’d see nothing more than madness that didn’t exist.

 _But it did, didn’t it? The Hatter was here, rattling cages, demanding to be known. He wanted **out**. He wanted his **Alice** and his **Grace**._ Jefferson breathed out slowly, closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He sought out _Jefferson_ the lonely rich man of Storybrooke who lived in a house too large, too decadent for just a single person. If Emma wouldn’t believe him, believe the truth that sat before her eyes, then he’d have to show her the discrepancies in the world around her _until_ she believed.

And that meant being Storybrooke’s _Jefferson_. Jefferson opened his eyes, pursed his lips in annoyance. He didn’t want to play to Regina’s Curse, to pander to the tune in his head, the life that was _wrong_. However what had playing Regina’s tune so far gotten him? Heartache. Pain. Loneliness. A very, very, hard hit to the head with his own telescope. Jefferson winced as the side of his face gave a particularly painful throb.

“Maybe it is time,” he said, eyes downcast. Maybe it was time he played along. Emma would rather believe her own lies, and while Jefferson hated to give more fuel to her lack of belief, maybe he could show her the truth inside of her lies? He tilted his head back, thought about what could unveil Storybrooke for what it was, the Queen for what it was. Cursed objects littered the town like candies, he knew that much, and since the entire town was fictional then their records were as well.

They’d appeared here over twenty-eight years ago after all. Jefferson’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s...it, isn’t it?” he asked himself, slightly awed. “The records would reflect the creation of the town….” Which meant everything was backdated twenty-eight years, _off_ by twenty-eight years. How to get _Emma_ to see that, though? He furrowed his brow, thought about it.

“Come on, Jefferson,” he hissed between his teeth. “ _Think_.” He used to be so good at this, at scheming and plotting and planning. He’d had the best teacher after all. His thoughts drifted to Rumplestiltskin and all the man had done to him, done for him, and he leaned against the tree heavily. What would the records reflect about him? He wondered, wondered if he could pull on Emma’s care for her son to gain her sympathy for his daughter. For a moment that night he’d thought he’d had her, waxing poetic about his little girl. For a moment she’d _believed_.

There was only one person, bar Regina, who would know what, exactly, the town records said about his history. Jefferson could only remember half-fragments of things, his mind a haze between Hatter, Jefferson, and _Jefferson_. He could remember something vague about an accident, about a stay in the asylum in the Hospital--he could remember a girl down there named Lacey-- _no, Belle, **his** Belle_ \--that Regina wanted to no one to know about. He could remember something about a nameless wife, dying in an accident, a child but he himself being in no condition to take care of her, rambling about evil queens and accidents and _oh_. Jefferson closed his eyes, stuffed those memories down in favor for things that hurt less. They weren’t _real_. They were _fiction_.

Sometimes he could believe he was that man, but now, no, not now. Not ever again. Jefferson breathed out slow, and opened his eyes determined. Rumplestiltskin would help him, _had_ to help him because, and here Jefferson smiled coldly, he remembered what Rumplestiltskin wanted most. His precious _Bae_.

Jefferson stumbled in the direction of town. He knew he must look a fright, something that he’d only gotten confirmed once he hit Main and got his first response to seeing him in town, not looking his best. He scrubbed his hand through his hair and leaned against the nearest wall, breathing a bit heavy. His chest hurt, and for a moment Jefferson wondered if he went and cracked a rib or something. It would be just his luck that the first jump through a portal in twenty-eight years and he cracked a rib. Jefferson laughed softly to himself and scrubbed his face.

“Gods I must look like a madman,” he muttered, thumping his head against the cement with a grimace and a wince.

“Well that’s one way of putting it.”

Jefferson rolled his head sideways and blinked, slowly. “Miss Swan,” he said blandly.

“Jefferson,” Emma said, eyeing him up and down. “Where have you been?”

“In the woods, apparently,” Jefferson replied, picking a leaf out of his vest with a grimace. “Most of it happens to be rather blurred together.” He stared at her for a moment, then had the realization that his neck must be bare and he flushed, faintly, hands quickly dong up the top buttons of his shirt. “Damn,” he muttered. “How could I have…” he shook his head with a curse.

“You feeling better?” Emma asked, hesitant.

“I have one hell of a headache,” Jefferson stated, “and maybe a cracked rib, but otherwise I’m not sure what you could be alluding to.” He blinked at her. He still felt rather dazed. It took him a second before he felt well enough to push off from the building. “If you would excuse me Miss Swan I have somewhere I need to be.”

The world swayed for a second, and Jefferson had the thought that maybe he wasn’t as well off as he’d thought. He swallowed heavily, surprised at the steadying hand. He glanced to Emma.

“Yeah, a hospital,” Emma said carefully and Jefferson scowled.

“Gold’s,” he corrected sharply, breathing out through his nose. “Not. Not the hospital.” Emma arched an eyebrow and Jefferson looked away. “Not fond memories.”

“And how is Mr. Gold supposed to help you?” Emma asked and Jefferson closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“He usually does,” he said, almost through gritted teeth, and yes, he could remember that now. In Jefferson’s ‘history’, Gold was his benefactor. He wondered how Regina had painted that one, being so in the dark to the depths of his and Rumplestiltskin’s relationship. Unless she’d uncovered that while he’d been in Wonderland or living in poverty? Jefferson grimaced. It wasn’t _much_ of a secret, granted, even he had pieced it together.

“Here I thought Regina was listed as your emergency contact?” Emma questioned, leading him over to her squad car calmly. “She seems to be almost everyone’s.” Jefferson snorted.

“That’s only because Gold and I had a fight,” Jefferson muttered, which wasn’t a lie. They _did_ have a fight, a rather spectacular row in fact, the last time Jefferson actually _talked_ to Rumplestiltskin. Jefferson closed his eyes. “I live in a mansion, Emma. Who in this town has funds enough to allow me that, and not charge overmuch for my residing there?”

Emma blinked for a moment and then laughed and said, “Okay, I think I can see that.” She opened the passenger door, ignored Jefferson’s slight glare and muttering that he wasn’t an _invalid_ and helped him get into his seat. Emma got into the drivers seat and started up the engine and pulled away from the curb. Jefferson watched her, curious.

“You’re being quite calm for what...happened,” Jefferson said carefully.

“I’ve had nearly ten days to process it, and you seem more stable,” Emma said calmly as Jefferson mouthed ‘ten days’ in horror to himself. “How much do you remember?” she asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Bits and pieces,” Jefferson muttered, which was also true. He could remember Regina’s visit, and then kidnapping Snow. He could vaguely recall meeting Emma and putting something into her tea and the specific details after that escaped him. He knew he’d felt pride for something, but not what, and he’d talked with Emma about Grace and Wonderland and the Curse, but specific words and the full direction of the conversation eluded him. He knew he’d tried to get her to make the hat work, that perhaps stood out most strongly in his memory than anything else. He could remember the pain of being smacked in the head quite clearly, too, and then the rest was lost to the Hatter whose thoughts and memories were always a jumbled mess.

“I hit you pretty hard,” Emma said with a grimace, “so I figured that might be the case. What do you remember?”

Jefferson pursed his lips, said, “I remember hitting Snow, Mary Margaret,” he corrected with a clenched fist and a grimace, “and then tying her up. I remember running into you on the road, drugging your tea, and after that it starts to get indistinct.”

Emma frowned, asked, “Do you still believe in this Curse nonsense?”

Jefferson pursed his lips, then licked them, then pursed them again and pressed his head against the window. Despite the rattling that made his head hurt worse, the cold was a comfort. “Names and faces get blurred together,” he said, as honest as he could. “The delusion and reality are often intermixed. It gets...harder...some days over others.” He didn’t specify which was the delusion and which was the reality, sometimes he wasn’t even sure.

“And today?” Emma asked, turning down another road.

“So far it’s a good day,” Jefferson said. “Aside from waking up in the forest with no real recollection of getting there.” He sighed heavily, glanced out the window, and said softly to himself, “It was a good day then, too, until Regina came to visit.”

Emma frowned. She wondered what Regina had to do with anything, and didn’t that prospect make her worried. Maybe there had been more to Jefferson’s kidnapping plot than she realized? She put it out of mind, figured it didn’t really matter in the end. Emma glanced to Jefferson, who stared out the window with a frown on his face. She pulled the car in front of Gold’s shop and shifted into park, turned off the engine.

“We’re here,” she said. Jefferson swallowed, glanced at the shop. He could tell Rumplestiltskin was there, tasted it like oil in the air. The presence was muted, but then his presence had been muted since they’d first all shown up here twenty-eight years ago. A side-effect of the curse, Jefferson figured, to be in a land where magic was barren.

Jefferson opened the door and started to get out of the car, but before he could manage Emma was there to help him. He frowned, said, “I can take care of myself.”

“You have a possible broken rib and concussion,” Emma pointed out, “most of which is because of me. I still think you should go to a hospital.”

Jefferson snarled. He hated the hospital, he hated seeing Victor in his current state. Victor had been a strong man full of convictions, ideas, not this drunk womanizer that Regina made him. He shook his head. Rumplestiltskin, even if he wasn’t welcome, was the better option that the sad, pathetic thing Victor had become. It helped that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t on Regina’s payroll, and thus less likely to lock him into the asylum in the basement of the building.

“Okay, I won’t mention the hospital then,” Emma sighed. She kept Jefferson steady as they headed up the steps of the pawn shop, mostly as his vision liked to swim at the worst possible moment right now. He was lightheaded and unsteady on his feet, and Jefferson knew it would only get worse if he kept pushing himself like this.

Emma opened the door, and Jefferson pulled himself free and stepped inside, his back stiff. Emma let him, probably realizing that he didn’t want to appear weak in front of the town proprietor or something. Jefferson wished that was the only reason, wished it could have been something as simple as that. The bell above the door rang, the only sign that someone had entered. From the back Rumplestiltskin appeared, looking rather put out upon by having someone in his shop. He gave Emma a smile, a somewhat cold one.

“Miss Swan,” he said. “Is there anything I could help you with?” He didn’t even acknowledge Jefferson, who kept behind Emma and more in the shadows as he could. This was honestly embarrassing enough, or rather frustrating enough. Jefferson didn’t _want_ to talk to Rumplestiltskin, he’d rather handle this all on his own--the concussion, the bruised, possibly broken ribs, the information he needed to pull Emma into the realization that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t all that mad and there was a Curse after all--except that he couldn’t. Jefferson may have been stubborn, but even he knew when he required help.

“Oh I’m not here for me,” Emma said, and motioned towards Jefferson who had one hand wrapped around his side as it began to throb. He didn’t look his best, and perhaps that was all that Rumplestiltskin needed to know something had happened. After all, he gave Jefferson a once over and then scowled, as if infuriated by what he saw.

“What have you gone and done now, boy?” he demanded, sharp and commanding. Emma glanced between Jefferson and Rumplestiltskin, confused, maybe a little concerned.

“Thank you for the ride, Emma,” Jefferson said, giving her a wide little grin. “I can get by on my own from here.”

“Are you sure…?” Emma asked, glancing back to Rumplestiltskin. “He looks pissed.”

“As I have every right to be,” Rumplestiltskin said sharply. “Jefferson hardly ever comes into my shop, and only when he’s done something monumentally stupid. Well, out with it!”

“I’ll be fine,” Jefferson said, and motioned for Emma to leave. She did so, reluctantly. Once she was out the door he sighed and gave Rumplestiltskin a bored glare. “Only when I’ve done something monumentally stupid? Really?”

“Is it not true, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin shot back, his voice pitching upward into a familiar lilt that Jefferson was very familiar with. “Now out with it. What the hell. Did you do.”

Jefferson ran a hand through his hair with a sigh and leaned against the door.

“Do you want to do this here, or in relative comfort?” he asked, lips pulled down into a frown.

“Here is fine,” Rumplestiltskin said sharply. “Your comfort matters not.”

“It never did,” Jefferson said back sharply. “Fine. Regina visited me.”

“Oh?” Rumplestiltskin had this smile to his face, almost pleased. “I take it the visit didn’t go to well?” Jefferson’s brow furrowed, his face pinched, and then he sighed explosively.

“Considering said visit ended with Snow kicking me out my own second floor window ten days ago, no,” Jefferson drawled, gaze intently focused on Rumplestiltskin’s face. Ah, there was the surprise he’d been looking for.

“Ten days ago?” Rumplestiltskin asked sharply. “What do you mean ten days ago?”

Jefferson smirked, lips quirked upward. “So you didn’t know, and yet you expected her to contact me? Oh my, oh my. What game are we playing now, O Dark One?”

“None of your concern,” Rumplestiltskin said sharply.

Jefferson laughed, then winced as his chest gave protest. He growled, “Considering it involves me, I take it to concern me as well. Especially if you consider how poorly your last plot that involved me and her came to bite me in return.”

Rumplestiltskin waved his hand dismissively, outright laughed mockingly back. “Oh please, Jefferson. You and I both know that the returns on your involvement are all on you. You were the one who foolishly trusted her when you knew exactly what she was like. You _knew_ she most likely would betray you, and you followed her like a fool to the chopping block.”

Jefferson snarled, tugged down his collar and spat, in return, “A little literal, there.” He showed the scar that rang his neck, and for a moment Rumplestiltskin paused.

“Is that…” he said slowly, cautiously.

“Your precious Cora’s work,” Jefferson said, tugging his collar back up. Rumplestiltskin sighed, looked away, and tapped his cane on the ground. He didn’t apologize, he didn’t say anything about the past again. Instead he seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment before he returned his gaze to Jefferson.

“What do you want, Jefferson,” he asked wearily instead.

“At the moment?” Jefferson said. “Some painkillers. And then, maybe, to ask for your help.”

* * *

He was half-drunk and hopped up on painkillers when he left Rumplestiltskin’s place. The sky had slowly grown darker as the sun began to set and Jefferson didn’t feel any better about anything, really. Confronting Rumplestiltskin perhaps hadn’t been his best plan of action, but it had been a  _plan_ nonetheless, and certainly Jefferson had gotten some answers he needed, just not the ones he’d ultimately been looking for.

Jefferson stumbled down the street, tried to put out of mind the exchange of words, how heated the conversation got until he and Rumplestiltskin had been practically yelling at one another, again. He should have known that there would be too much baggage between them, too much history to accurately get any sort of help out of the man.

Instead Jefferson headed towards Town Hall, where all the records were kept. His talk with Rumplestiltskin _had_ revealed that yes, the town records _would_ reflect the date of the town’s creation, that is to say 1983, but that Regina had more brains than Jefferson ever wanted to credit her with and kept the main records in a series of boxes in her office at _home_. The records at Town Hall all lacked dates, something that Rumplestiltskin assured Jefferson was not exactly legal. Jefferson didn’t care.

He didn’t care that Rumplestiltskin barely knew a damn thing about his prison, the memories in his mind half-buried under Hatter and Jefferson and all the things he’s done wrong in his life. He didn’t care that there was nothing Rumplestiltskin--or so the bastard claimed--could do to help ease the knowledge that he wanted or required. Jefferson was beyond caring right now, high and half out of his own head in a way he hadn’t felt since gods he was young, freshly pulled into Rumplestiltskin’s claws.

Jefferson pushed open the door to Town Hall. He’d gotten directions to Records before he left, before he started drinking even since it was the first thing he’d asked after he’d down the painkillers he’d been handed, so he knew exactly where to go. There was nobody inside, not in Records and not in the office that Jefferson could see although he bet that someone was there since the door was unlocked and open. He didn’t mind, he didn’t care if anyone did see him looking around. He had every right to be here just as anyone else did.

For an hour Jefferson rifled through filing cabinet after filing cabinet. Sometimes he came across _gold_ in the sense of blackmail material on Jiminy, on Snow, on Leroy, on that _Mirror_ or whatever he was. There were others, names he couldn’t put to faces because they weren’t around Regina enough for him to _care_. He rifled through personal records, police records--there was hardly any crime aside from some drunken disorderly nonsense, one break in or two over the years, and a whole slew of past probable crimes that never existed except on paper--hospital records, anything he could get his hands on.

Two hours in Jefferson found the ‘accident report’ and adoption papers that detailed his supposed wife’s death and the birth of his Grace. His hands shook. Three hours in and he found his own hospitalization records telling a story that he both recognized and didn’t all at once. He felt sick. Four hours in and Jefferson found documentation of a more recent nature of his supposed mental health history which just made him infuriated. Four and a half hours into going through records and he found the report that detailed how he got his scar around his neck.

* * *

Emma Swan entered into the Town Hall, flashlight on as it was nearing midnight. She swept through room after room, searching for the reported disturbance or break in and, not even a minute into looking through one room she heard the sound of a ragged breath, a broken sort of sniffle. She made her way towards Records and discovered Jefferson curled up in the corner, hands wrapped tight into his hair. His eyes were bloodshot and his face tear streaked and he looked to be trembling and an overall wreck.

“Jefferson?” she asked, stepping into the room and kneeling down beside him. His gaze darted over to her, quick, and then darted away. Emma took stock of the room, of the littered files and papers that laid haphazard on the table in the middle. She glanced at the open cabinet drawers and breathed out slowly. This, Emma figured, was not part of her pay grade. “Shit, Jefferson what are you doing here.”

Jefferson shook, breathed out ragged, and gave a sort of half hysterical laugh. “Wanted to know,” he said. “Should never have looked,” he added, swallowed, and closed his eyes with a grimace.

Emma glanced around again, said, “I gathered that,” and sighed. She ran a hand through her hair, breathed out heavily. “You know this area is off limits unless supervised, right?”

Jefferson shrugged, gave another half hysterical laugh and a manic twitch of his lips. His eyes snapped open. “Door was open, nobody home,” he murmured. “Nobodies ever home.”

Emma hissed between her teeth, frustrated. She looked him over again, muttered, “Definitely above my pay grade,” to herself and cautiously reached out a hand. “Can you get up, or do you need help?”

Jefferson swallowed, flinched, but then reached out and grasped her hand like a lifeline. Emma took that as a good sign and carefully wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hefted him upwards. He went stumbling sideways and Emma breathed out another exasperated sort of sound.

“Have you been drinking?” she demanded softly.

“Not for five,” Jefferson whispered. “Not since him.”

“Gold gave you alcohol?” Emma asked.

“And something for the pain,” Jefferson whispered. Emma closed her eyes and carefully started to lead Jefferson out of the Records room. He went stiff, shouted, “No!” and stumbled back out of her arms, hands reaching towards the records with wide eyes.

“Easy!” Emma snapped, winced, and then repeated slower, “Jefferson, it’s okay.”

“Please don’t,” Jefferson swallowed, but he seemed somewhat calmer. “Not the hospital.”

“Not the hospital,” Emma said, although she thought it would be a far better idea except for the utter fear and devastation in his eyes. “You are going to have to sleep this off in a cell, though.”

At that, Jefferson seemed to calm completely. He stumbled sideways into the table, and allowed Emma to reach out and help him steady. She started to lead him out of the room, and Town Hall, carefully and placed him into her car.

“Stay here,” she said sternly, fully aware that he couldn’t get out of the back of the car but feeling it needed to be said anyway. “I’ll be right back.”

Emma quickly went back inside, looked at the mess, and then curiosity got the better part of her. Quickly Emma placed documents back into files and folders and stacked them up neat until she had maybe six inches of paperwork. Then she moved around the room shutting drawers and cabinets before scooping up the papers into her arms. She locked the room, and then the front doors to Town Hall, and set the papers onto the passenger seat before slipping into the drivers. She glanced back towards Jefferson to find him passed out cold. Emma breathed a sigh of relief, started the car, and headed toward the station.

This was not what she had expected on her planned last day in Storybrooke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing with Jefferson is, the way I’m writing him, he claims he’s got two sets of memories in his head and he does. He’s just learned very well how to aggressively suppress them because the memories Regina gave him are in some parts worse than his memories of Wonderland. At least Wonderland, which left him broken and insane, is scattered into the madness that is called the Hatter. He doesn’t fully recall Wonderland, he can’t fully recall Wonderland, but the tortures Regina decided Jefferson’s cursed self went through he can, easily, recall in great detail if he even lets himself.
> 
> I hinted at that in chapter one. Most days Jefferson has these memories buried deep, relying on his memories of the Enchanted Forest, his desire to have Grace, like a crutch, a band aid. He still has cursed Jefferson thoughts bouncing around his head, along with Hatter and Jefferson, but he’s practically suppressed the memories. He hasn’t dealt with, at all, what his cursed memories tell him he’s suffered through.
> 
> Every bit of trauma, every mark in his skin from Wonderland, has a horrible memory tied to it in Storybrooke.
> 
> More than that, however, is that for once in his life Jefferson has actually decided to draw on those memories. He’s planning to use Emma’s sympathy in order to pull her so deep into a web that she will have no choice but to actually believe the truth she’s denying.
> 
> ...I have a weakness for breaking characters. Does it show?


End file.
